Teacher
by Glaurung II
Summary: Zevran is asked to give a fencing lesson. He doensn't know he's the one to learn something new. ZevranxF!Mahariel


**DISCLAIMER:**Dragon Age, its characters, names and places are property of Bioware. Iarba is Nobuddy's OC, so nothing here is mine.

**AN:** This one-shot was a present for my friend Nobuddy, using her OC, Iarba, in the DA setting. She chose to be a Dalish Elf, a Roge and an Assassin's apprentice, aside from romancing Zevran. Hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

**xxxxXX-0-XXxxxx**

The twin blades cut through the night's air in a tireless dance of death.

But this time there was no flesh to meet the bright steel, no blood to be spilled, and no screams to accompany the singing of the daggers.

Stepping right behind Iarba, Zevran guided his pupil's hands as he instructed her on the most basic movements. How she had convinced him to teach her some of the Crows' secrets he still didn't know. He prided on being a silver-tongued rogue, but this woman had surpassed him on several occasions, not only that night.

Back when he had accepted the contract, he had no idea that his target was an Elf, and a Dalish Elf of all things if the tattoos on her face said something! The surprise upon discovering that fact when he finally faced the two Grey Wardens could only be concealed by the heat of the battle. But when he woke up after it and saw himself tied up and at the Dalish's mercy, things didn't look too bright for him; knowing how Dalish made things in Antiva, Zevran saw himself skinned and gutted in a flash of his mind. It took all his training as a Crow to keep chatting in a casual tone.

Auspiciously for him, Fereldian Dalish were not as savage as those from Antiva, and he was held a prisoner just for questioning. Of course, he sweet-talked his way into Mahariel's service, or so he thought, because he soon discovered that she might have spared him out of pure mercy, and not because she might have found him useful, and what began as a desperate act of changing one master for another, became something he wasn't used to, and that he couldn't quite name.

This girl was a complete mystery to him. Iarba was more than capable in combat; if not, she wouldn't have earned the vallaslin, the facial tatoos that Dalish tribes bestowed on their members when they were considered fully responsible adults. Yet something in her way of speaking and acting always struck an odd note on him. Her attitude was that of a cocky and witty young woman, sometimes edging the tomboyish kind of girl; she joked with him as they travelled and followed his innuendos, though every time he tried to make any serious advance towards her, she slapped hard his shoulder or his back with a big laugh, as if he just told her any funny story.

"_Bwahaha! You are so fun, Zev boy!"_ she would always say.

Right after that she would find an excuse to go ahead to explore. All to conceal that she had turned red as a beetroot.

In camp it was more of the same: Iarba had no problem at all if he told her any story about his past life as a Crow but, whenever he attempted to insinuate himself to her, she would blush and scurry away again with this or that excuse, either suddenly laughing at Oghren's antics (which was a far too easy escape, as the dwarf's drunkenness was so ingrained that everyone wondered whether he was born from a woman, or if he just popped out of a rum cask), or going to watch Bodham's items, or whatever other employment she could find there.

It took a while for him to notice, however, the connection between his attempts to get closer to her and her bursts of energy, even at the end of a long day, and her urges to walk to and fro through the camp, chatting with everyone, trading with the merchant or concocting venoms. Whatever excuse was good enough to avoid any private conversation with him.

At first, Zevran blamed her running away from any familiarity with him on his failed attempt to assassinate her, but then he observed that, even when Iarba spent time with Alistair (whom Zevran at first had related to her, as they spoke with more relaxedness between them than to the rest of the group), the girl kept a polite distance between herself and the former Templar, and there were these reserved looks and gestures that, on his mind, were telltale signs of something he couldn't have suspected on anyone, lest they had lived the cloistered life of the Chantry since childhood.

She was innocent.

She had to be, for she still had the shyness of a young girl, if one knew which signs he had to look for. That thought filled his head with a lot of questions about the Dalish, and he regretted not having inquired about them back in Antiva.

There had to exist a powerful reason why a woman like Iarba remained untouched. Surely it wasn't for lack of suitors, for she was a beautiful gal, no matter how much she tried to demerit that side of herself with her tomboyish behavior and her studied ruffled up appearance (two things that, from his point of view, added more allure to her persona). With long, curly, brown hair, evocative of the woods and the earth she seemed so connected with; her big, dark eyes which, though always glanced with honest warmth to her companions, blocked her soul from any further scrutiny, and in that very silence they spoke to Zevran of the mysteries she might be protecting close to her heart; her small body, in whose curves it hid a nimbleness and a tenacity that supplied the strength she lacked; her skin, fair as the snow, whose pureness was only broken by the thin lines of the vallaslin on her forehead, a primitive tiara for an untamed lady of the forest.

His answers about the Dalish's customs didn't have to wait much longer, though. Their army recruiting mission had a final stop at the Brecillian Forest, where a Dalish encampment sat and on which they could spend some days. There, Iarba helped a young pair to be together, and told her travel companions about her people's customs regarding marriage. Zevran was beyond astonished when he heard that the vallaslin came before anything else: One had to prove his or her worth as a hunter, go through the Blood Writing ritual, find a mate of his or her liking, bond with that person FOR LIFE, and only then perform the deed. Rules, so many rules everywhere! Why even the people of the forest made things so damn complicated? He would have voiced his complains, had Iarba not looked so sad when gazing at that young pair of lovers.

Then he understood why Iarba was so versed on some fields, while in others she remained as an illiterate child; thus, he resolved to personally fix that lack of tutoring.

The main problem was: How to offer himself to her? If he wasn't direct and relied on his innuendos, he was sure to fail, but if he was direct and she took offense… He shuddered, remembering that man who had been so discourteous towards her at Orzammar's entrance, their first stop after finding the Urn. The man had been most rude and he deserved a thrashing, this he could understand, but having THAT part of his body cracked… No, there was no way that she would do that to a friend, or so he kept repeating to himself. Although lately she had been quite dour, and he couldn't know which reaction she might have under such state of mind.

But the Fates smiled upon him far more often than he would be willing to admit, and just after leaving the Dalish, she approached him one night at camp, the first time, in fact, that she did such a thing. She asked about the Assassins, and if she could learn from them.

"_And, why do you wish to know about it?"_ he inquired. His question seemed a bit rhetoric to him, but since this was the very first time she consented on speaking to him in private, he intended to prolong the conversation as much as he could.

"_Because __I want to fight better, duh! Didn't you see those Shadows that attacked us? You had barely no problem with them! And I want to dodge better too. One of those Wild Silvans nearly crushes me to a pulp."_

And so he complied on teaching her some of the secrets of the Crows. They were already upset enough with him, what difference would this do anyway? Besides, he would enjoy twitching their noses a bit more.

"All right, enough for now," he told her, stepping aside.

Iarba tried to catch her breath, wiping away the sweat from her brown, and trying to comb back the hair out of her face.

"Why did you tell me to untie my hair?" she asked, pestered about her brown curls blinding her. "It constantly gets on the way."

"My dear, an assassin must know how to fight even in the most unusual or uncomfortable situations," he explained, trying to hide his amusement. Of course that was the main reason, but he also had a desire of seeing her with her hair loose. The fact that her mane was constantly caressing his face and neck while she moved was a little extra.

Fates loved him indeed.

"And you have been so serious lately!" he continued. "I thought a little physical exertion would be good for you."

"Thanks for teaching me, by the way," she murmured, sheathing her daggers and composing herself a little.

"No need to thank me just now, the lesson has barely begun," he smirked, trying not to gaze too much towards her, for he knew how distracting a Dalish female armor could be. Not that he complained on seeing a beautiful woman with her belly bared, but he knew that her glistening skin under the moonlight might prove too much for him to bear with a stoic mask (or as stoic as he could get).

"What?"

"After teaching you the movements, I have to value your progress. Through a duel."

"Alright," she unsheathed her daggers and took a defensive stance, without any further comment. It was rare not to have any sarcastic comment from her.

"_Why is she so grim?"_ he wondered, trying to recall any even that might have triggered such a state of mind.

"_Could it be__…?"_

The Shrieks that attacked their camp when they first came near the Brecillian Forest, of course! With them there was an Elf with the Taint who attacked her, and only her. Iarba had to slain him, and then she told everyone that he was the friend from his tribe that disappeared, before vanishing herself inside her tent until the next morning, without a further word to anyone about the matter. What was the name of that poor fellow? Tamlen?

It was from that ill-fated night that she stopped laughing and joking altogether. Her fighting-style also became more vicious and savage, as if she had some hidden rage that she needed to vent.

"_Maybe that Elf had been more than a friend. Could it be?"_ he thought as she lunged forward, and steel met steel.

"_Stupid, stupid Zevran__!"_ he reproached himself, while he blocked her attacks and delivered his own ones._ "You had all the facts before your very own eyes and saw nothing!"_

Whenever she fought, Iarba always let her mask slip away, letting her emotions on the open. Zevran could see now clearly into her eyes as they dueled: the secrets that she tried so hard to conceal to the world were no others than the pain of her broken heart and the regret of not being able to save a life, the very life of someone who surely had been of outmost importance to her. It was so great now, her sorrow, that she wasn't able to hide it in anymore, and she sought an exit in her desperation.

Zevran could tell, because he had been through exactly the same situation, and he knew far too well where such a grief could lead her.

"_You could save a life__. One for every one you have taken."_

He remembered Wynne's advice with some surprise. After having joked his way out of the old mage's lecture, he now reflected on her words. If there was a life he wanted to save, he knew it was Iarba's. She was everything he desired in a woman, and some more. She had a pure, noble heart under all those layers of wryness and constant perchance to pranks and jokes; that was far more than what he could have ever found anywhere. Although Zevran had sworn an oath to her, Iarba always insisted to him that he was free, that he could choose his own path whenever he wanted and that the only reason she wanted him around was because he had proven a valuable ally and friend. And, how she always remembered those objects that meant something to those around her: she went through all the trouble of finding those rare white flowers, whose name he didn't care to remember, for Leliana; she found Sten's sword; she searched for that amulet that Alistair's mother bequeathed to him; and, what about her remembering about Zevran's brief mention of his mother's Dalish gloves, and all the difficulties on finding them? And, what about those Antivan boots she cared to keep through all her way back from Haven?

He had to admit, with some regret, that this girl touched something within him; and with some regret because he knew very well what happened the last time he indulged himself on such a feeling.

This time, though, he could help her when she most needed him: Rinna had pleaded him for help with tears in her eyes, and he had denied it. Now Iarba also supplicated for help, albeit in a silent manner.

This time, he would do the correct thing.

He pushed her against the tree's bark, pressing down with both his daggers her own ones, crossed above her head. He was stronger, and he knew he would win the match if he exerted a bit more strength. But he wanted that moment to last a little longer. Under the moonlight, he could see Iarba's flushed cheeks, her skin dotted with sweat, and the soft curve of her bosom heaving with the exertion. And the expression of her eyes. Those eyes! So full of fierce determination, of untamed will, and so full of pain and suffering. How he longed to gaze more into those dark depths, to fully uncover their secrets, to really understand them!

His chain of thought was drastically cut when Iarba lunged forward and pressed a firm kiss on his lips. He had no time to react, so sudden had been the movement and so unexpected on its nature. For a split second his mind could only savor her thin lips, before a sharp blow to his stomach made him loose his balance and his breath, making him kneel on the ground with a grunt, his daggers dropped at his sides.

Before he could react, he was pulled backwards with a firm hand, leaving his throat exposed, and then he felt the coldness of a blade against his skin.

"I win!" he heard Iarba's triumphant voice above him, though her tone was devoid of any mirth.

Zevran opened his eyes. She was behind him, restraining his head with a hand over his brow, pressing him against her stomach, while with the other she wielded one of her weapons. It was not his intention to question her about who the real winner was in such situation, but the feeling of fulfillment said everything he didn't dare voicing.

"Oh, gods!" she suddenly gasped, releasing him and kneeling at his side. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

Her apology was cut short by Zevran's outburst of laughter.

"Why do you apologize for?" he said merrily, sitting back on the grass with a relaxed expression. "If it's either for the kiss or the knee on my stomach, I should tell you that I enjoyed both things."

"You are terrible!" she huffed, getting up and walking towards the camp.

"_Way to go, Iarba!"_ she scolded herself. _"KISSING a man you sworn not to touch even with a ten-foot pole. What were you thinking!"_

She wanted to pretend that she had taken offense on his mockery, but the truth was that she was angry with herself. Since they had met the Elf, months ago, her peace of mind was no more. Iarba enjoyed Zevran's company more than anything, but after each conversation, guilt washed over her like a cold downpour.

"_This is wrong,"_ she would repeat to herself.

After becoming tainted with the Blight she knew her days would be short. Her fears became confirmed when Alistair revealed that a Grey Warden never survived longer than thirty years after passing the Initiation. She would never lead a normal life anymore, so any prospect she might have sheltered should be erased from her mind.

But, what expectation of a normal life would she have after what happened to Tamlen? Even if she hadn't become ill with the Taint, what hope would she have anyway? She and Tamlen had been inseparable since childhood, he had been her best hunt companion, her friend, her confidant… and it came a day when he dared to steal a brief kiss from her, before confessing that he wanted to be more than that.

Had he died a normal death she would have been pained, but her heart would have healed one day. Being the one who had to kill him to put him out of his misery, and then having to feign before the others that he was nothing more than a friend of his tribe, lest she had to face painful questions… It changed everything.

_I always loved you._

How bitter had it been to hide that they were meant to bond someday. That, during their travels, her mind, when absent, was always drawn to his image, to his voice, and to the never-ending anguish of not knowing what had happened to him; sometimes she wondered if it wasn't better for her to believe him dead in some obscure cave, rather than having to put an end to his life. Then she would reason that, if Tamlen came to her after becoming a Ghoul, it must have been because he wanted HER to be the one, of all people, who ended his life.

The pain subdued, eventually, as days went by. Their mission was one so grand that it took her mind away from her worries most of the time, but they never faded entirely, and her guilt upon not having protected Tamlen when she should have still made her feel a pang.

When they met Zevran, early in their journey, she let him live out of charity. He was a City Elf, bought in the slave market when he was a child and turned an assassin by his masters. All her life she had heard stories about her city cousins, and always pitied them, resolving on helping all those she could. But after that she found herself in a predicament, maybe bigger than she thought at first.

There were many differences between Zevran and Tamlen, from appearance to background, but their personalities were almost identical: their way to joke, their innuendos, their taste for elaborate pranks… exactly the very reasons that made her like Tamlen so much.

But she couldn't, she wouldn't let herself indulge on such feelings after what had happened.

"Wait!"

She stopped, but didn't turn around, unable to face him.

"Who was Tamlen?"

That question made her blood freeze. She didn't answer immediately, and the sounds from the nearby camp filled their silence. Leliana was singing again, this time in elven language; it was a calm and sweet melody, but melancholic at the same time, for it told the story of two star-crossed lovers. It didn't help improving Iarba's spirits.

"It was the man from my tribe that I killed," she said, trying to keep her voice from quavering. "I thought I explained that already."

"Why do you run away?" his voice was right behind her.

She did turn around this time, startled, and found him at an arm's length. The look on his face was something she had never seen on him.

"I know why you are doing it," he softly said.

"What? I don't know what-"

"You know perfectly what I am talking about," now his tone was stern. "Tamlen meant something to you, you had to dispose of his life and now it's hurting you."

Iarba's eyes widened, but it took her a long while to reply.

"How do you know?" she whispered.

"I went through the same pain once," was his response. "I… never told you, but it happened during my last mission, and it was what made me volunteer for the one which took me to Ferelden."

Zevran told her about that last job in Antiva, of his companions during that task: Rinna, an elven girl whom he fancied; and Taliesen, a human and a good friend of him; and the tragic outcome of their affair. Rinna had been discovered to have been bribed by their victim, that was considered treason and she had to be executed. Taliesen killed her while Zevran just watched, and not even Rinna's tearful pledges of love towards him and of loyalty towards the Crows could save her life.

It was the first time he recounted the events to anyone, and he was surprised on how easily the words came out. Iarba listened to him with attentiveness, with those huge, marvelously innocent dark eyes fixed upon him. When he reached the part of Rinna's execution, Iarba's eyes filled with tears that she tried to blink away, but to no avail.

Did she cry for him? Did he deserve such a thing?

Later it was discovered that the accusation towards Rinna had been false, that the girl had never accepted any bribe, and that her death was undeserved; not only that, but their masters didn't care a single bit for Rinna's death, since all Crows were considered expendable. That was what triggered his impulse to take a suicide mission such as trying to kill two Grey Wardens.

"So, you see," he concluded. "I, too, carry my own burden of guilt and sorrow with me."

"Tamlen…" she lowered her eyes. "He was my betrothed."

She turned sideways, so her mane would hide the tears that were already rolling down her cheeks.

"I wish we had never found that wretched cave," she said with a shaky voice. "I couldn't protect him. As hunt companions we were supposed to watch for each other's back. But I lost him, the one I loved most. And then you appeared," she sighed deeply, wiping her eyes. "Just when I thought I had forgotten Tamlen, you brought him back. His manners, his speech, everything was like him! And I felt scared of you. No, not of you, but of myself. And I'm still scared of what I feel. I sworn I would close up my heart, but now I feel torn, and it's making me insane."

For the second time in his life, the Crow didn't know what to say. Iarba's speech sounded as if it had been taken straight from his mind.

"There's so much that it's expected from me," she continued, still not looking at him. "I know I shouldn't be so weak, but I can't help it."

Iarba paused, closing her eyes. The noises from the camp reached her ears again. Leliana kept on singing. No surprise, for that elven song she had chosen was a long one. The melody made her cry more, for it reminded her of the clan she left behind to never return, and of the life she had lost so suddenly and so traumatically.

The girl raised her eyes to the sky. She wanted to feel the night's fresh breeze, to gaze at the starry night and soothe her heart. She felt Zevran's footsteps on the grass, surely returning to camp after her outburst. Good. That would leave her some time on her own to compose herself before returning to the others.

She gasped when she felt his arms enveloping her and, when she was about to voice a protest, he silenced her with a kiss. In her mind, she wanted to struggle her way out, to push him away, but her body would not obey, and her hands stayed leaning on his chest. She yielded, closing her eyes and losing herself into him. All sounds faded away: the rustle of leaves, the frogs croaking on the nearby pond, even Leliana's song couldn't reach her now. It only existed him, embracing her, surrounding her, making her one with him. She shivered when she felt one of his hands softly caressing her lower back, while the other was on the back of her head, tangled on her curls. He let her lips go for a moment, before returning to assault her with smaller kisses and nibbles. She uttered his name on his lips with a weak moan, meaning to beg him to stop, to end that merciless, albeit delicious torture he was submitting her to. But that only served to make him tighten his embrace on her, and that he kept playing with her lips with renewed passion. He finally stopped, leaving her leaning on his chest, trembling and breathless, but he didn't let her go. Iarba kept her eyes closed, taking refuge on his warmth, on the scent of leather and the sweet aroma of deathroot that always surrounded him.

"What you said," he purred against her hair. She felt how he buried his face on her curls. "It mirrors perfectly what I feel when I look at you."

Iarba gazed up to him. His honey eyes shone with warmth when they met her dark ones.

"I was in love with Rinna," he confessed. "Though I didn't want to admit it to myself. I had been raised in a brothel, sold as a slave when I was still a child, and lived the rest of my life among fighting and death. What place remained for love? And yet…" he paused, and she could see a sudden pain passing over his features, but it went away as soon as it had come. "And then I found you, and you brought her back to me. You are precisely what she used to be, with one sole exception."

She said nothing, not wanting to interrupt him, but raised her eyebrows at his last words.

"You have a noble heart and a pure soul," he said, in answer to her silent question. "You care about what I want. You gave me things that meant something to me without asking anything in return. This is something I have never encountered before. I… don't know what I feel either, and I have to admit," he chuckled nervously. "That it scares me too."

She tiptoed, giving him a quick kiss, her lips merely touching his before she retreated. She smiled with wicked amusement when he lowered his head, trying to chase after her and failing.

"You teasing little minx…" he whispered, though his honey eyes twinkled mischievously.

"What will happen now?"

"Well, we have kissed, we have confessed things that maybe we would have never said without drinking first a gallon of ale and now we are embracing as if we were each other's salvation. Oh, and maybe our companions are right now gossiping about us like old fishwives."

Iarba giggled, to her own surprise. She had always mocked all those girls who laughed in a silly way whenever a handsome man looked on their way. Zevran seemed to like it, so she wasn't going to correct that habit for the moment.

"Allow me to make it simple for you, my dear," he continued. "What happens now is up to you. I shall ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give."

"At least until we make up our mind about what it is what we feel," she laughed.

He kissed her forehead, holding her against his chest in silence.

Leliana had stopped singing a long while ago. Iarba didn't want to take a peek towards the camp, but she was sure they were watching them, _"To ensure that you are safe with that shifty Elf,"_ as Alistair would put it. She chuckled, knowing that, though she had left a whole clan behind, now she had a new family, if only while their adventure lasted. There will always be a spark of light among darkness, after all.

"You seem tired, my dear," he purred, caressing again her lower back. She looked up, feeling shivers, to see him smirking mischievously. "We could retire to you tent and I could show you this short of massage skills that one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse."

She burst out laughing nervously, pushing him away.

"Good joke, Zev!"

He said nothing. Far from being offended or upset, he knew that was her way to get out from awkward situations. Instead, he chuckled in amusement as she walked back to the camp. Having an idea, he went after her and took her hand. She turned away, surprised.

"Maybe another time, then. No?" he offered, giving her his most seductive smirk, though it was very likely that she laughed her way out of the situation again. He just wanted to pull her leg a little more.

"Maybe," she whispered, softly squeezing his hand, her laugh replaced by a soft smile. She lingered like that for a moment, their hands taken, until she remembered that there was a camp to return to and, biting her lip, she broke the contact and walked away.

Zevran stayed behind a little longer, pacing among the trees. There was so much on his mind at that moment that he needed some time for himself. He bit his lower lip, remembering her, and chuckled. He could have never guessed that the very mission he intended to be his last would be the one which leaded him to a new life and, for the first time in his life, to have something to look forward to.

Fates loved him indeed, but they were also unfathomable mistresses, who placed one's destiny in the most unexpected place.

**xxxxXX-0-XXxxxx**


End file.
